


Cloudy Yellow

by KillingMonsters



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, No Witcher has ever died in his own bed, death of old age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillingMonsters/pseuds/KillingMonsters
Summary: Geralt and Ciri have been working together for a very long time...





	Cloudy Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> There's not enough angst in this fandom. I'm here to fix that.

It had been a long time since the struggle against the Wild Hunt, Ciri and the man she took as a father travelled the world as Witchers for years. Even then, while the threat of the Wild Hunt loomed over them, he looked old, he was old. He'd been ninety then. Last month had been his Five hundred and forty seventh winter, a season that was now slowly melting into spring. 

 

Work hadn't been kind to them, contracts taking them far and wide to kill beasts even the armies shook in fear of. One memorable mission involved a blond vampire trying to sway Geralt into following her home, only to be swiftly brought outside the city walls and beheaded. Ciri loved to tease him about the suggestive methods he'd used to get her to follow him. They had been happy times, punctuated with a few terrifying moments of pain and worry. Once, Ciri had been caught in the poisonous grasp of a basilisk, and had been weak for nearly a month. Another night time, Geralt took a heavy strike to the chest in a battle with a gigantic griffin. He'd cracked six ribs. There was struggle, but it was never enough to push them out of their adventures. 

 

They rested, on their way back from a contract, beneath a wide tree. A creek ran quietly on their left, the road mile to the right. Geralt sat silently, watching, while Ciri slept beside him. His hand would often stray close to her, to feel the life in her, and pull their one blanket closer around her shoulders. He'd felt strange the last few months, achy and strained, almost. He told Ciri that it was just too many hard battles in the harsh cold of the winter nights. But even now, he felt it. A bone crushing weariness that threatened to pull him towards the earth with every step. 

 

“Are you okay?” Ciri was sitting up beside him now, a small hand on his back. He was momentarily confused, until his throat clenched and he coughed again. He hadn't even noticed that he'd started. Presently, the coughing for subsided, the weariness growing. 

 

“I'm fine. I must have inhaled something from the Shrieker. Too much dust, Probably.” He gave her a reassuring look, sitting up a little straighter. 

 

“That was days ago. You look exhausted. Lie down, I'll take over the watch.” Ciri wrapped the blanket around him, climbing swiftly to the top of the tree they say under. Once on top, she cast a small communication spell, waiting for a response. Yennefers face was quick to appear in the clear, water surface of the spell.

 

“Ciri, is everything alright?” She knew well that the spell was only to be cast in times of need. 

 

“I think Geralt is sick.” The white haired woman cast a glance down toward her sleeping companion, worry lining her face. 

 

“Sick? Geralt? Never. What happened?” 

 

“Hes been coughing alot, too much for inhaling some dust a week ago. His hands shake, and he looks so… tired all the time. I'm worried.” 

 

Yennefer just looked sad. The lines in her face grew deeper. The spell that kept her young would not work on someone like her husband. 

 

“Do you know how long Witchers live?” Ciri asked, quietly. 

 

“Hes 547 winters, isn't he? The oldest Witcher I know lived until 587. Most die around 500. The ones that don't die early, anyway.” She sighed, turning away from the spell. “Bring him home safe, will you?” 

 

“I will. We're a few days outside White Orchard. I'll keep him safe.” 

 

“Take care of yourselves out there. I'll see you soon.” 

 

–––

 

Ciri led her father into a tiny, half burnt house that had been long abandoned. Nature was in the process of taking it back, roots and plants grew through the floorboards, and the wooden walls had begun to rot. They set down their things, and Ciri went to lay out a bed on the clearest patch of floor she could find. Kicking a few sticks aside, she cleared a spot and spread a blanket over the ground. Geralt sat down, pulling his swords from his back and setting them carefully on the remnants of a table, now just three legs and a large root holding it up. 

 

“Geralt, sleep. I'll take watch. I'll wake you up when Yen gets here.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the spot she'd cleared. He did little to protest. She couldn't help but notice his eyes. They were usually bright, a sharp glowing gold that could stare down a dragon. The gold had dimmed to a cloudy yellow, the brightness dulled to a misty pain. He looked exhausted, like he'd been through far too much. And he had, so she supposed it was fair to feel that way. He really had been through far too much. She smiled, as he rolled onto his side, hand resting beside his swords.  
——

 

Ciri came to wake him up just as the sun had reached its highest point, and began it's descent. She whispered his name, and shook his shoulder softly. He did not respond. This was unusual, Geralt was an extremely light sleeper. She shook him harder. Again, There was nothing. She pressed thin fingers to his wrist, waiting. The beats of a Witcher’s heart were far apart, she waited. Fifteen seconds… twenty seconds… thirty seconds… forty-five… fifty… Too long. There was nothing. She couldn't find it in herself to cry.


End file.
